


We Are Both Free

by argelfraster_z



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Erik, Gen, I ruined Madame Giry and I apologize but it had to happen, I'm Sorry Andrew Lloyd Webber, Platonic Cuddling, Protective Erik, also this is my first POTO fic so don't hurt me, and I stand by that decision, i guess, meaning Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argelfraster_z/pseuds/argelfraster_z
Summary: Three years after moving to America, Erik finally escapes his role in the sideshow and is ready to start realizing his dreams for Coney Island. His only regret? That this means that Meg Giry is leaving. (oneshot)
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera & Meg Giry, Madame Giry & Meg Giry
Comments: 7
Kudos: 6





	We Are Both Free

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! It's finally up!!!
> 
> Some quick backstory: I'm currently working on (still in planning stages) a nonmusical adaptation of LND, with quite a few changes from ALW's obviously, and I figured, why not write some random oneshots on the alternate timeline? This is three years in, after Erik has burned down the opera intentionally, Madame Giry hates him for it, and him and Christine didn't hook up because I didn't want them to (and I didn't think it made a ton of sense but that's just my random opinion :) ). Also, I know it's *very* different from most interpretations of him, but my version of Erik is ace! At least, this version is... I reserve all right to have fifteen million versions of Erik in my mind. :) 
> 
> Music (because I put one song on repeat usually and must give credit where it's due): My Immortal by Evanescence 
> 
> TWs: mentions of suicidal thoughts/intentions, minor parental neglect; these are both pretty tame but I thought I should throw them out there
> 
> Enjoy!

The boardwalk is cold, the night air well trained in pushing its way through the space between stitches of fabric, and as the two of them walk slowly along it, Meg finds herself sincerely wishing she had had the forethought to bring an overcoat. It is beautiful, no doubt, but the biting wind takes away slightly from the clear and untarnished sky. She wonders if Erik has walked out here before, though she suspects he has. He isn’t usually home when she comes by, though she understands why. Up until nearly a week ago, the only home he had was the small, grimy flat the three of them had shared, and she knows it hurts him beyond words to even be in proximity to her mother. After what she did to him. It hurts her, too.

It was necessary, she often tells Meg, we needed the money. But she doesn’t say it kindly, she forces it between her unsmiling lips with a bitterness that was never present before they left Paris, before everything changed. And all of the money Erik has earned for them in his… position, her mother has spent on frivolities. It is next to infuriating. 

He wished to redeem himself, her mother said once, and this is a way that he can. But Meg hardly thinks that being forced to sit in a cage, on display—just like in his youth—is redeeming in any way. Though she supposes there is an ounce of truth in it; when they left Paris he was practically a madman, despondent, lost in his grief for Christine. During these three years he has been lost in hurt, and in anger, but these have led him somewhere, she thinks. They have led him here.

The silence is eerie between them, and she has to walk briskly to keep up. She knows silence doesn’t disturb Erik, he has told her this himself, but it still doesn’t feel quite natural to her. It reminds her of the time she spent in the opera house, the time before Christine came and even after, hiding from her fellow dancers and wishing there was a way to escape the confines of her own mind. Especially during the first year, the year after she found out that Erik, the boy they had taken in, had drowned himself in the lake. That was what her mother had told her. He had only been three years older than her, so young to die. Silence reminds her of staring into the lake, wanting to follow him. Silence reminds her of the time before she started hearing the music from across the water, the music that kept her from following her only friend into the depths of the opera, the depths of hell, both literal and perceived. She hates silence, and expects that it hates her in return.

But now they are here. And this place is his, to do whatever he wants with. What a change from being hunted, she thinks, smiling despite the pain memory brings. She is used to smiling through pain.

“Look at this, Erik,” she says, stopping and leaning against the thin guardrail between her and the sea to look inland at the gaudy lights that have framed their existence for so long. “It’s all yours.” He stops in his walking, and comes to stand beside her, looking extremely tense. “Erik?” she asks, not wanting to press but knowing how easy it is for him to become lost in his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Miss Giry,” he says softly, also gazing at the turmoil of lights that is Coney Island, this place that is his now. Not all of it, of course, but enough. More than enough. “It is still all very strange to me. It has been a long time since I owned anything other than secrets.” She nods, and the silence feels more comfortable now, with something out in the open, something said. But something is strange, she feels, he is overly formal. He hasn’t called her Miss Giry since… since shortly after they arrived, and has never reverted back to it. She wonders if this should be cause for alarm, but tries to shrug it off. They are here, he is free, and for this, she is happy.

Erik, for his part, is close to terrified. Of what he has ownership of, of what he will do with it. Of what is happening now, with this girl from his childhood. As soon he had seen her standing in his doorway this evening, he had been afraid of this conversation. His time was up, he knew. She had brought him here to say goodbye.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asks quietly.

“I don’t know yet,” he replies honestly. “But it’s going to be safe. There’s going to be a place… for everyone. For all kinds of beauty.” 

“It sounds wonderful,” she murmurs. It really does, she thinks, wishing she had a better way to express how she feels. She only hopes there is a place for her in this world, this dream he is creating. She knows some of what he is planning, has seen inside a few of his well-guarded notebooks, and everything she has seen looks like pure fantasy, pure beauty. Costumes that she wants to wear with all of her heart, stages and sets that she wants to stand upon, gazing into audiences night after night after night. 

She has not seen herself in any of the notebooks, has not seen Erik himself. The latter is not surprising, she doesn’t expect him to let himself be seen, even now. Too much of him has been seen to be taken back, she knows. Too much of his soul has been given away. Taken away.

Erik has drawn Meg. He has drawn her more times than he could count. Sitting, standing, dancing. In many costumes, all of which he has designed himself. He doesn't let her see these drawings. They would disturb her, he thinks, because she doesn’t want any role here, she is only repaying a debt. A debt he hadn’t known of, a debt he would’ve been happy to let go. A debt her mother clearly isn’t very happy that she is repaying.

It will be easier when she is gone, he tells himself, because then he will stop worrying that she will leave. He just needs to survive this last, strangely heart-wrenching interaction, and she will disappear. Her mother will be happy, happy that they are at last rid of the monster. The freak who is better off caged.

Meg pushes away from the railing, turning to glance back at the sea for a moment before starting slowly again down the boardwalk.

“Shall we?” she asks, smiling. This is their first night of freedom, she thinks, their first night away from everything that has plagued them these three years. Plagued them their whole life, in fact. As she moves to walk, she suddenly feels a hand on her elbow, pulling her back bluntly. Erik drops her arm as she turns, and she looks into his eyes, confused. He sighs, sounding annoyed.

“Pardon me if I am being overly direct,” he starts, “and correct me if I may be wrong, but this… is this a goodbye, Miss Giry?” She takes a step back, alarmed, but steps closer again immediately, knowing how it hurts him to have people run, to see them be afraid. 

“No,” she says, a note of fear edging her voice, “I—why would you think that?” 

He, too, steps closer, and there isn’t much space between them as he says, “The way I see it, Miss Giry, you were helping me out of a need to repay me. You said I saved you, and now you have saved me in return. There is no reason to continue. Your perceived debt is more than repaid.” She shakes her head, but he continues. “Your mother wants you away from this place, that much is clear, and I assume you want the same. You are free, Miss Giry, you can know that I will survive without your assistance. I don’t know why you stayed, but you no longer need to.” She stares, mouth slightly open.

“Erik…” she starts, but words don’t come, so she simply lays a hand on his arm, hoping to make clearer what she longs to say but is unable to. Finally, she says simply, “We are both free.” He nods, tense, and she sees his lips purse as he pulls sharply away from her to stare out at the stars, at the ocean. She moves to join him, and though he very obviously grows more rigid from her proximity, he makes no move to leave. 

“I don’t want everything my mother wants,” she states simply, not looking at him. “And I don’t want to go. I don’t want this to be goodbye.” She hears him draw in a breath, moving to look at her but instead settling his gaze on the waters below them. She turns her gaze to him, to the masked side of his face closest to her, as if daring him to make eye contact. “I want nothing to do with my mother. You’ve seen how she acts now, ever since the opera was destroyed.” They both know what she is referring to, but neither speaks to it. It is simply a fact, a fact alluded to but not spoken. She does not hate him for burning it down. Her mother does. She takes a breath, continues. “I… I would like to stay here, if you’ll have me. For the performances, for what you create. But if you want me to leave, if it would be better, I’ll gladly—”

“Stay,” Erik says suddenly, almost demanding, his gaze snapping up to hers, and then suddenly back to the water. “Only if you want to,” he amends, more meek, as if he is afraid of what her response will be, as if he has gone too far. He cannot force himself on anyone else. The punishments are harsh, he knows now, and though he does not know precisely who punished him, who he answers to, he knows they can inflict tortures on him again, as much as they wish. The last few years have been proof enough of that. The silence stretches between them again, until he asks, with a strange anxiousness, “Do you want to leave?”

“No,” she answers immediately, because it isn’t a question she has to think about. She wants to stay. This is where she wants to be, right here, with him, with the future before them, endless. 

“Thank God,” he whispers, and she isn’t sure if it was intended for her to hear. “Thank you, Meg,” he says, in the same tone, and she knows that it was, he wanted her to hear it, wanted her to know how much it meant. It touches her, almost beyond words. A strong gust passes over them, from the ocean, bringing a slight salty spray with it, and she shivers, uncontrollably. 

“You’re cold,” he says, and she nods, not having anything to elaborate with. “Would you like to go back?”

“Do we have to?” she asks, looking up at him to find him still gazing out into the water. “It’s nice out here. Peaceful.” Another gust whips by them, and she wraps herself in her arms, laughing slightly. “And cold.”

Before she can say anything more, she feels his cloak draping around her shoulders, and she makes to pull away, starting to protest that now he will be cold, but realizes with an odd mix of emotions that they are both under the cloak, and feels his arm wrapped around her shoulder. “Better?” he asks quietly, and she nods, leaning her head against his chest. He flinches away, and she pulls back from the motion, remembering the remnants of scars that still warp his body. They stand like this, watching the water for a long moment, listening to the relentless whispering of the ocean, and Meg finds herself wishing it could last forever.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, remembering him asking her the same question years ago, under the same stars, when they were both very different people. 

“Time,” he says, after a moment. “Memories. Her.” Her, of course, she thinks. She is a fool if she believes he will ever stop thinking about Christine, her dear old friend whom she has not heard from, not even once, since the three of them left Paris, leaving the ashes of the opera house behind, leaving Christine with the Vicomte. 

“What about time?” she says, hoping he will continue talking. It isn’t something he has done much of, especially since they arrived, and she prays that he will remember how, eventually. 

“Three years,” is all he says. Then, after a pause, “Everything’s changed, but it’s like no time has passed. And still, somehow, every day felt like an eternity.” She knows how it feels, she thinks, but knows that she doesn’t, not in the way he has experienced. “It’s only been three years,” he continues, pain edging his voice, “and yet I can’t remember her face. Not until she’s standing in front of me, mocking me. And every time she leaves, she’s gone more completely.” His voice is broken as he finishes, “How long until there’s nothing left?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, leaning into his chest again. This time, he lets her, even moving his other hand to trail slowly through her hair. It reminds Meg of something her mother used to do, back when her mother was loving and kind, back when she still thought Meg would come to be something other than a burden. 

“What happens now?” he asks, and she can feel him staring into the horizon, at the place between worlds. She understands the feeling. Their troubles are gone, in some form, but they can never be erased, especially when they run so deep. Healing, she wants to say, but she isn’t sure if that is true. She isn’t sure if either of them are ready, or even able, to heal. 

“Anything,” she says, hoping it will convey the meaning she wants. “This is yours now. This place, this story. Anything you don’t like, you can change.” It isn’t entirely true, of course, but nothing is. The past cannot be changed. And she knows that is the one thing he would change, if he could. 

“Are you afraid?” he asks, his voice soft in her ear. “Of staying here? Of what will happen?”

“Of course,” she responds, wondering if he has asked because he wants to voice his own answer. It is something he does often, asking what he wants to be asked. “If I were not afraid, I would not be human. We all fear the future, in some way.” He nods, and they grow quiet again.

“What about you?” she returns. “Are you afraid?” He does not respond, and she wonders if he will, if he heard, but she doesn’t try again, just lets the words settle over them.

“Yes,” he says after a long moment. “Completely terrified. I don’t know if I have ever been more afraid.”

“Why?” It may be too personal a question, she knows, but she tries anyway. He has had much cause to be afraid in his life, and it seems to her that he has very little now.

Erik is not sure why he is afraid, when fear is not something he has felt for three whole years. Shame, certainly. Anger, without any doubt. Guilt, in unmeasurable amounts. But never fear, because he had nothing to be afraid for, not even his own life, which he cared so little for until now. No, he has not been afraid, not since the soprano for whom he extorted and killed and burned. Fear and love disappeared together, if it was love he felt for her. He suspects it was. He does not have any other word that fits.

Love does not fit what he feels for Meg Giry, either. Companionship, yes, and respect, and a gratefulness so vast it astonishes him. He does not think he wants to love her. She would be too easily hurt. But it is more than that, he knows, feeling a twinge of happiness thinking about the fact that they are both staring at the same dark sea, it is the fact that love is blind, and yet she sees him. When the sideshow closed each night, she had always been the first to run to him, looking at him without fear, returning the mask not for her sake, but for his. Love is not all-accepting, love is not kind, or gentle, it uses you at whim, infiltrates your soul, drives you to despair and to madness. Meg will do none of those things, he knows, and she is gentle, and kind, and takes him for a man and not a ghost or an angel. If he wasn’t afraid of what came next, she had said, he wouldn’t be human.

Finally, someone believes he is human.

“I understand,” she says quietly, even though he has not spoken, and without warning, she turns and pulls him into a close hug, her arms wrapping around his waist. Without really thinking, he returns the gesture, holding her close inside the cloak as if scared that the wind will snatch her away. She looks so small, he thinks, so frail, but he knows that there is a massive source of strength within her, a strength that nothing can take or overcome. She is not Christine, she is not his, she is not staying because it is required of her, or out of pity or a lust for revenge. She is Meg Giry, a strong, unfettered spirit with nothing holding her but a strange sense of loyalty, and an unwavering friendship he knows he can never be worthy of. She is nothing that he expected, and suddenly, everything that he needs.

Choosing his words carefully, he murmurs, “Because I have never had more to lose.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment, I'm pretty new here and love feedback :)
> 
> A


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